


Pursuing the Horizon

by inferre



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Army, Battle, Commander Rick - Freeform, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Existentialism, Gen, Military, Missions Gone Wrong, Multiverse, Power Dynamics, Rescue Missions, Shooting, Special Ops, Squadron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-20 16:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inferre/pseuds/inferre
Summary: In a multiverse where Ricks die every day leaving their Mortys behind, this team of significantly skilled Ricks has only one task - to protect and save the lives of Mortys in every single conceivable reality. [IN PROGRESS]





	1. Reconnaissance

It felt almost unreal to find a cave in a natural mountain formation that resembled a steel structure. However, a quick scan of the environment clearly indicated that not only a cave was present, but it had been also artificially created. The Division wasn't wrong with their brief. Or so it would have seemed.

After they searched through the area around the entrance, Rick led his entire team inside. The squadron quickly picked up the pace, prepared to run at least a mile that separated them from the next room in this incredibly unsettling hall. Whoever built it, must have had a lot of plans in mind. Military perhaps. Or experimental. One can never know. Whatever W-792 was looking for here, it must have been hidden for ages and was worth a lot.

"Slower!" Commander Rick exhaled suddenly, evening out his panting.

Their mission was clearly meant to reach the target as soon as possible, slowing down seemed like a useless and dangerous deviation. The commander must had known that. Nevertheless, he continued. The rest of the team adjusted their pace accordingly. Despite their objections, they knew that their leader would never go against instructions from the Division unless he was sure that it was necessary. And if it was, it most probably meant trouble.

Suddenly, the commander gave them a hand signal to stop. The whole squadron froze in anticipation what this could have meant.

A full minute passed. The silence of the cave was closing in on them, the only clear and unsettling sound being the captain's nervous panting. Something was definitely off. A cracking sound could be heard over the intercom. Even the oxygen in the tanks started feeling heavy. Everyone took a deep, steady breath.

"Safety. Off." the commander instructed them slowly, prepping his gun. A newly updated plasma blaster. His model had an additional option to stun targets. Not today though. This day could have only ended in a bloodbath.

"Sir, we're almost at the…" Scout Rick wasn't sure what exactly they were dealing with. It was his first advanced mission. It didn't excuse his lack of trust in the leader either way.

"I know where we are, you di- dipshit!" Commander Rick stuttered angrily and pulled Scout closer to him. The DNA scanner in his hand was off the rails, the display flooded with color configurations never previously used, emitting an annoying sound barely, yet persistently hearable. At least to a human. "Do you see this?" he muttered, grinding his teeth in rage. Scout Rick nodded, not exactly sure if he knew what he was supposed to pay attention to.

"Did the scanner broke?" it definitely seemed so. There was no other excuse than a malfunction. A DNA scanner was nothing more than simple analysis tool. It could track any target within the same dimension across the whole universe, granted their genetic material was encoded in it. But that wasn't hard to set up. A small sample with a short description was usually enough. Compared to other technology the Citadel had been developing, this was nothing more than a can opener. Useful, but nothing unusual.

"No, you idiot!" the Commander sighed and looked at the rest of the team "Do any of you know what we're dealing with here?".

None of the team members said anything, waiting for the reveal. There was nothing else one could do when a Rick switched to monologue mode. They were all aware of that. They've seen all the other Ricks do it too many times. Enough times that catching themselves doing it was not only unnerving but simply embarrassing.

"The scanner shows that in a few moments we're going to enter a room filled with scattered human remains. Thi- This isn't like anything we have dealt with before..." he took a closer look at the rest of the team, their expression ranging from semi-disinterested to simply amused. "Oh, I know you fuckers like to make fun of any of us monologuing but I'm sure you'll wipe these smirks of your faces when I tell you that W-792 is not the only scattered body there..."

The Engineer Sergeant shook his head in disbelief.

"Is M-Morty...?"

"No, asshole" Commander Rick put away his blaster, the scabbard on his back never felt heavier. "Morty is alive. He's not in one piece anymore, but he's definitely alive...". He reached into the medical kit he had attached to his belt and pulled out a small assistance device. "Now listen. This will be tough and painful. But I want you to understand that despite seeing M- Morty in pain, you need to stay focused. Scout, you'll lead everyone to the room. Sergeants, all of you will have to do your best to cover me and get whoever else is in that room to focus on you while I grab Morty. Once I get him and give first aid, which shouldn't take more than 30 seconds, we bail. Got it? We can't be here any longer. M- Morty is the most important part of this mission. He must be protected".

He could see everyone nod slowly, checking their guns' readiness.

"I promise you. He'll be alright. We'll save him" Commander Rick smiled, seeing his squadron's dedication. He was proud to be leading a team of Ricks who cared.

A truly rare occurrence in the multiverse.


	2. Recovery

A narrow laser beam pierced the outer layer of protective gear on his left side, just under the lowest rib. Commander Rick hissed. There was no major injury, but his skin was burning. Second-degree. It was easy to tell based on the feeling alone. If there was one upside to spending most one’s life-time fighting, then building up bodily memory and damage recognition was definitely one. 

Two quick taps on the sensors installed in his shoulder armor were enough to release a small dose of quick-acting painkillers directly into the bloodstream through one of the tubes connecting the exoskeleton to the body. Getting burned was a small mistake, but this was not a mission to take any chances on major injury. Relief came almost immediately, as did the adrenaline boost, automatically served as a follow-up to any medical intervention. Commander Rick still thought that his Medical Sergeant did not receive enough praise for this small yet unbelievably useful upgrade.

Adding that detail to his mental list of conversations to be had with the team later, he shot two plasma beams in response to the first attack and hid behind a steel formation resembling a rock. A very tentative option for a shield, these things never lasted long.

“Wh- why are you not covering m- me?!” the squadron could hear Commander Rick wheezing through the intercom. “Shoot that fu-” a loud burp interrupted his order “-ucker, I- I need to get to Morty!”.

“Med got to him already, sir!” another feeling of relief, this time set in the lowest part of his stomach, lasted a second. “His intercom was damaged, we can’t hear him, but he’s there!”. A confirmation from the Communications Sergeant was all he needed. A busted intercom, however, meant that they couldn’t know what the boy’s injuries were exactly. They needed to get him out. As soon as possible.

“There are still four of you left! Weapons, cover the medic, Comms, you cover me and Scout..." 

Rick checked the outline of the cave through a digital mapping device on his left wrist. They were facing between ten to thirteen robotic guardians of the cave. As anticipated, it was another Rick and Morty treasure hunting adventure gone wrong. These were the most common ways to die. Ricks, too full of themselves, did not assess the situation correctly and what seemed like a twenty minute in-and-out almost always turned into a slaughter. Fortunately for the Council, it kept a closer look at the actions of almost every conceivable iteration of Rick. That way at least their grandsons’ lives could have been spared. A foolish old man was guilty of his own mistakes. A fourteen year old who just wanted to be close to his grandfather should not pay the ultimate price for following his heart and need of belonging.

“Engineer!” Commander yelled into his transmitter, not sure if all communication was still clear.

“Here and ready!” a small green point blinked on the map. All Ricks’ positions were clearly visible. An in-battle update! Impressive, even if not out of ordinary for any of them. Another laser beam shot closer to his head. Commander Rick reloaded the blaster and retaliated with two closely aimed shots. His blaster and Weapons’ hydronades destroyed one of the robots.

Nine to twelve left. Easy.

“Me and Scout will help Med. I still have a fully charged portal gun. What about yours?!”

If there was a god, it would probably be good to pray for an affirmative answer. Recovering Morty was always a priority, but getting everybody out, was for the best interest of the squadron. Ricks like them were never easy to locate, let alone train. As every iteration of themselves, none of them cared for the other, but had to learn to function as a team. And that included realizing that every single one of them was an essential part of every mission. They all needed to return.

“Half-charged, sir!” not the answer he was expecting, but still better than nothing at all.

“It can handle three people, you can easily...!”

Weapons was getting impatient. Commander Rick was an incredibly skillful strategist, but he always took too long trying to figure out the best solution for everyone involved.

“W- we’ll figure it out, sir! Go get Morty!”

“Roger” Rick hated when his subordinates acted as if they all ran the show, but this time his sergeant was right. There was no time to spare. He quickly consulted the map again. Scout was just a few feet away, hidden behind another cave formation, this one resembling a steel plate. It didn’t seem like anything that would last more than another two to three minutes.

“Scout. Ready in 5. Engineer, cover all three of us until we evacuate. Everyone else in position”.

Four voices confirmed readiness over the intercom. The map indicated that Med was still alive and was able to move Morty to a more secluded part of the cave. Extraction should be easy. Rick tapped another small device on the inside of his left wrist and clearly spoke to his transmitter: “T minus 5 seconds. Synchronize”

A visible number 5 appeared on his and the other four’s left forearm devices’ screens. This was it. Commander Rick took a deep breath and reloaded his blaster. He closed his eyes for a second.

“Begin countdown.”

One second to indicate on the map where he and Scout would meet. Another one to identify which robots they would try to take down on the way. Three were the absolute maximum. Covers should distract the rest. Two seconds to identify where to open a portal to transfer everyone safely. And one final second to hope that this Morty would not go on any other adventures. Even if it was for the Council to decide, one could definitely dream, couldn’t they?

“Go!”

As he was making his way towards the robots, he could see Comms, Weapons and Engineer giving the enemy everything they had. Running straight for one of the robo-guards, he aimed his blaster for its head, almost exactly at the same time when another plasma beam hit it. Rick dodged a badly timed laser shot and rolled under another robot, not spotted by its sensors. They were either too busy with the covers, or Engineer Rick was able to disable them remotely. Either way, he was still alive and on his way to Morty.

“I find the Rick roll too easy!” he could hear Scouts laughter over the intercom and saw him immediately to his right, with a blaster in his left hand and one of those self-satisfactory smirks glued to his face. Scout’s eyes were sharply focused.

“Are you on a boost?!” Commander asked between another skillful shot and dodge.

Scout waved at him with what was left of his right arm. Rick only now noticed how much of Scout’s armor was drenched in blood.

“I- I don’t think I have a choice in the matter anymore!” he exclaimed clearly thrilled about losing a limb. They made a game out of this some time ago and Scout was the only one who hadn’t scored a single point since the squadron was formed. This was his debut. Weapons was the absolute record holder. Nine replacements and counting. No one could beat him.

Another robot guard shot down. Commander and Scout barely avoided being crushed by its falling body. This seemed to be the last hurdle.

“All clear. Med’s on two o’clock, fifteen meters away” they could both hear Engineer’s update.

Rick looked at his map. Only three robots remained and from the looks of it, the rest of the squad had everything under control. He turned his head to Scout.

“Did you stop the bleeding?”

Scout confirmed with a short grunt. Exoskeleton boost wouldn’t last more than another three minutes when dealing with such a serious injury. They needed to hurry. For the sake of everyone.

They finally got to the medic. He was in the best possible shape, giving the circumstances. Having his helmet off, most probably to be able to talk to barely conscious Morty, part of his hair was burned due to ongoing fire. His blaster rested on the floor as he was trying to stabilize the boy. 

“Target reached. Finalize mission. Further communication after extraction is completed. Out.”

Commander Rick removed his and Scout’s helmet, quickly grabbed medic’s gun and stood to cover all four of them. He didn’t expect the other three to fail, but he wasn’t going to take any chances either.

“Status?!” he asked Med, taking a quick look at Morty. It seemed that the boy’s face had been burned and that one of his legs had been crushed. He was fortunately unconscious. Hopefully he didn’t experience much pain before they reached him.

“Physically manageable!” Med replied while working on reconstructing the boy’s leg in preparations for a full-on high-speed recovery at the Citadel. “He’s stabilized now. Coma induced”

“Coma? Too much damage to cope?!” Commander shot two blasters simultaneously, seeing that the rest of the team didn’t seem to manage as well as they promised.

“No. Tra- transitional coma” Med checked Morty’s vitals again. Definitely stabilized. “He’s ready for extraction”.

Scout grabbed the medical sergeant’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to make him notice his injuries. His voice was weak and fading. Commander Rick looked at him, a hint of worry ran through his face.

“I- I need a boost!” Scout almost pleaded.

“He needs a new arm” sighed Commander Rick. “I think he... he didn’t stop the bleeding on time.”

Medic took a closer look at Scout’s pupils, noticing that his skin was much more pale than usual.

“He...” Med sighed injecting Scout’s neck with blue liquid and caught him halfway through a sudden fall “Needs to be extracted too. He won’t last long”. Scout was now lying on the cave floor, next to Morty. Compared to the steadily breathing boy, unconscious Rick seemed as if he was about to suffocate.

Commander Rick gave two guns to the medic and began calibrating the portal gun, sending their coordinates back to the Division. His messenger device scanned the surroundings, confirming transportation of three Ricks and one Morty, out of which two needed advanced medical attention.

“We need additional psychiatric oversight for the boy” he added to the message, medic nodded. “Yes, another one” Rick confirmed, although he would prefer not to.

A short beeping sound indicated that their coordinates have been calculated. Commander opened the portal aiming the gun at the nearest wall. Four guards and two medic Ricks appeared through the somewhat gooey green path. Everyone greeted each other with a short nod of acknowledgement. While medic let one of the teams know about what help was needed for Scout, Commander took a longer look at Morty.

“Be gentle with him” he sighed, turning to one of the Citadel’s medical providers “It’s his first time losing a Rick”.

“Is special oversight needed?”

Commander Rick confirmed with a sad smile.

“Yeah. W-792 never showed him the Citadel. This will be heartbreaking for him”

“I- I think we can handle an existential crisis, Commander” Citadel’s medic rolled his eyes and tapped a few keys on his ether phone “We get at least five Mortys like this every day”. He turned away and led his team through the portal. The automated stretcher with unconscious Morty followed suit. 

“A day like any, fucking, o- other” Rick sighed, following the second medical team back to the Citadel.


	3. W-792

Up until the day of the funeral, Commander Rick wondered how Beth imagined this event without an actual body present. Rick W-792 was obliterated. They couldn't even find a single limb that could have been cremated. After they recovered Morty, the rest of the squadron took care of robotic guards and – aided by a few lower rank non-combat members of the Division – combed through the whole site.

The procedure was pretty standard: find Sanchez' body (or what was left of it), look for any technology that could be useful to the Council or materials that could be deemed valuable under the Citadel's current economic system, recover Rick's remains and, if possible, any objects that felt under one of these two categories, and leave.

There was no doubt that the most important resource was always Morty. He wasn't important because of his Sanchez bloodline. Not to the Division or the Council anyway. There might have existed infinite Mortys throughout the multiverse, but as soon as there was a finite number of them at the Citadel, there was danger of scarcity. And every Rick traversing the multitude of realities needed his sidekick. Otherwise they were potentially traceable by too many groups and armies. If Ricks were dying daily when in hiding, there was no telling how many of them would perish without their mental shields.

Commander Rick didn't know if the Division performed any other research activities on recovery sites. He imagined that they might use available data to further map the multiverse. A task that was one of the main reasons why the Citadel was created in the first place, except from hiding from infinite versions of the Galactic Federation that is. They must have been doing something else there. Otherwise they would just recover injured Mortys and leave a particular reality behind. Remarkable, how little Ricks cared about anything or anyone.

And yet there he was, sitting in Beth W-792's kitchen, endlessly stirring a cup of coffee she poured him not even ten minutes earlier. Her hands were shaking. A collection of small dark stains from a few drops that didn't make it to the cup decorated the light blue table cloth with an interesting pattern. Trying to force his mind to shift into different areas, he found himself focused on figuring out whether these artsy effects of uncontrollable muscle spasms caused by distress could be predicted with a mathematical equation.

It was his first time in this dimension. Two weeks earlier, soon after they recovered this reality's Morty, she was visited by the Citadel's messengers to let her know about her father's fate. A very cynical and well thought-out move. In realities where Beth and Morty were both alive, the pattern was always the same. Sanchez had come back from years of absence, either fighting in wars he found amusing, organizing and committing crimes or simply engaging in terrorism on a universal scale. Comforting Beth with the fact that there wasn't just one Rick out there, and that the boy would not lose his grandfather, led to her agreeing for his further engagement with other Ricks and eventually moving a Morty to the Citadel where a whole educational system filled with various training programs awaited.

Manageable relationships with Beth were profitable. As understood by the Council. a supportive mother meant a subordinate and cooperative grandson. And that was exactly what Ricks needed from Mortys. If a Beth was still married to Jerry, the plan would usually work a lot quicker. Jerry always opposed to this idea and there were very few Beths in the multiverse who would put up with his whining.

Commander Rick smiled delicately. He hated Jerry. He didn't even know what was it that repulsed him so much. He never met the man in his original reality and yet whenever he would come across another version of Beth's ex (or not-so-ex) husband, he wasn't able to feel anything else but contempt. Jerry reminded him of a slimy worm, willing to do anything to feel better about his meaningless existence. Why some Beths would still be married to that parody of a man was beyond his comprehension. They deserved better. Fortunately for him, although not so much for the Division, in this reality Jerry was not in Rick's daughter's life anymore. They apparently divorced shortly after Morty was born.

"Dad came back around the time we separated, when I was still pregnant with Morty" Sanchez' daughter poured herself some coffee and sat next to him. She was wearing a simple black dress and a hint of makeup that made her lips stand out next to the paleness of her face. She must have not slept in days. "He helped me so much in these first years, especially with Summer. She wasn't taking the divorce well, not to mention the new baby. I don't know how I would have survived without dad's help..."

"He w- was here then? With them?" Rick looked at her surprised. It may had been the first time he heard about a Rick who didn't desert his family for a decade. Could it be the reason why W-792 never told Morty about the Citadel? Was he actually protecting his grandson? Or did he come back because he was running from something else?

"Up until Morty's fourth birthday. After that he kept popping in and out. He would visit for three months and then disappear for another five or something like that." Beth sighed. "But he always came back when I needed him." Her eyes pointed to a small device sitting on the table. "I was so angry with him the first time it happened. Morty and Summer loved him and he just left us. I thought he left for good. When he came back, I cried. I cried and yelled, I told him he can't just make us his episodic family. Not after he made everything seemed normal again. So he made me this" she picked up a square metal object the size of her palm and showed it to him.

Commander Rick looked puzzled. The object resembled a novelty panic button, red color and the word 'PUSH' written in white included. It seemed unscientific and useless. "It sends a distress signal" he could swear she giggled. "He would always emerge from a portal after I pushed it. It never took him more than three minutes. In the beginning, I was so terrified of not having him around that I would push it virtually every day, but after that one time he emerged half-naked and drenched in blood, I sort of understood that there's a lot more going on in the universe than I would like to know." She sniffed.

He sighed. This Sanchez might have been more responsive to his daughter's emotional needs, but it was almost certain that W-792 didn't really differ from most of the Ricks, especially before Morty turned fourteen. Whatever he was engaged in, it had nothing to do with justice, morality or any other higher cause. Beth believed that he was a good person though. Every single one of them did. And that was exactly why he could never tell them the truth about their father. No matter what atrocities he, they, committed.

"Your father was complicated" he stated diplomatically. "But I'm sure he always wanted the best for his family. Especially when Jerry was out of the picture". Although he made an effort to sounds thoughtful and delicate, he couldn't leave that last remark unspoken. Beth smirked.

"Do all of you hate Jerry?" she asked intrigued.

"M- most" Rick nodded and took a small sip of barely warm coffee. "He's a piece of shi-" he belched "-it in almost every universe".

"Cheers to that..." Beth gently tapped his cup with her mug. Commander Rick smiled at her. Beths may have acted similarly everywhere, but he always enjoyed their company. They seemed to open up more after their fathers' deaths. He imagined that his presence might give them an impression that they were talking to a ghost. After all, he looked and sounded exactly like their father. Who wouldn't like to talk to a dead parent and tell them everything they always thought about them without the danger of possible ridicule or scorn.

A few seconds passed in complete silence. Beth was staring at her coffee, her lips flinching and her eyes slightly narrowing. Like a perfect copy of Diane and her mannerisms. Sanchez' daughter raised her head slowly and looked at him.

"Why are you here?" she asked bluntly without a trace of a smile, most probably realizing that she should have asked that the minute he appeared in her kitchen dressed in black. It was clear that his presence was connected to the funeral. He couldn't have simply appeared at her home to have an amicable conversation.

"The Citadel sent me" Commander Rick tapped the badge on his blazer. "W- we monitor how the family... how you" he corrected himself immediately "are taking your father's death. We understand it can be hard..."

Her eyes watered again.

"He was a shitty father." Beth whispered all of a sudden not looking at Rick.

He nodded.

"I know."

She still held the summoning device in her hand. He could hear her pressing it frantically to no effect. With every push, she bit her lip harder. Tears started running down her cheeks.

"He's not coming back, Beth" he uttered finally. "You father is dead."

The last word seemed to have pierced her whole body. She looked at him again, eyes wide open in shock. She must have been processing the news ever since she found out. The presence of a Rick from another reality did not seem helpful this time.

"Can't you replace him? You look just like him..."

"I- I can't" his stutter was more nervous than usual "This is y- your reality to bear. I- I have my own tasks to fulfill".

Beth seemed to shift between complete loss of hope and extreme anger. She tossed the summoning button in the air. The device flew across the kitchen, hitting the window and falling straight to the sink. A small crack formed on the glass.

"What do you have so important going on that doesn't let you stay with your own daughter?!" Beth screamed and Rick could see how hurt she was. Hurt by lack of a stable relationship with her father, hurt by the fact that she was never able to build anything that didn't resembled her parents' shattered marriage and now this stranger, who looked exactly like her father, was telling her that he couldn't pretend that nothing happened and that Sanchez was still here, ready to let her give him another chance.

He wished he could help. But she wasn't the first Beth to ask him of this. And she definitely wasn't the last either.

"I save your sons' lives" he answered calmly. "I- I cannot give that up for you".


	4. A Day Like Any Other

Waking up on his own, and not being dragged out of bed by an important call or an order to immediately deploy to the Division, was a rare occurrence. There was no such thing as a "typical day". Routine was not default for the Citadel, nor was it considered productive or meaningful. All governments, whether planetary, interstellar or galactic, had one thing in common - they operated on bureaucratic principles, sacrificing efficiency for the sake of following procedures and rules. The Citadel's concept could not have been based on such widespread defaults. A sociopolitical body made out of many iterations of Rick Sanchez could not have survived on blatant predictable patterns. Ricks would have never bought into this idea. Routine did not offer them closure, it aggravated them. Where there was routine, there was always forced cooperation. If Ricks were to work together, they needed to be bonded with more than just simple governmental structures.

Commander Rick closed his eyes and focused on the comfort of his own bed. He arched his back slightly and pushed his shoulder blades and lower back against the firm mattress sighing deeply. He could feel all of his muscles tightening, trapping the air in his lungs for a split second, before relaxing completely and exhaling with a single long yawn. This was one of those days he had just for himself and he planned to enjoy every single second of it, and every tiny pleasure he could find even in the most mundane and useless gestures.

He ran his right hand down the left side of his body, fingers tapping on every single rib. "An interesting body to have..." he could hear himself whispering. Old, and yet able to perform in combat. He smirked. Things would never be that easy if it wasn't for the many upgrades and limb re-growth, courtesy of both his previous work and current tasks with the Division. He didn't even want to begin to think how many times he had been patched up and almost literally put back together.

His hand went further down, resting on the scar from the recent shooting. Although carefully taken care of by the Division's medical team, the skin still had a scaly feel to it and seemed very delicate, almost ready to burst in comparison to the healthy tissue surrounding it. This was not the first and definitely not the last burn to come, but there was something in recovery missions scars that felt meaningful. He never asked the medical team to remove them. They kept him grounded and mindful of what he was tasked to do.

At times, there was not even a mission to deploy on. An alarm could get him out of bed in three seconds and he could teleport into the Division's headquarters in less than 5 minutes, fully armed and ready to engage, only to find out that it had been too late. That both Morty and his grandfather perished. He hated missions were Sanchez was the one to survive. His Squadron would never deploy to save a lonesome Rick, but the multitude of possibilities in realities they were able to reach, was not always working in their favor. Sometimes, they would reach their destination and find that Morty was already dead, while Rick was somehow able to cling to his life. Commander could not count the times he just wanted to kill these bastards off.

It was never easy to save old men who thought their grandsons were disposable adventure accessories. He would always rather see himself dead than that poor, innocent boy. Killing Sanchez, however satisfying, would not do any good for himself nor the Squadron in the long run. He needed to go on and they needed him to lead. Saving Morty was worth putting up with the Citadel's only true rule – that Rick Sanchez' existence mattered over any other entity in the entire multiverse. Whoever he might have been. Unless his actions threatened the Council or the Citadel. Commander Rick hoped that he would never meet another iteration of himself that would be capable of shaking the foundations of what he was now able to call his everyday reality. He worked too hard to get where he was now, respected and labeled as significant within the Division. He did not need any trigger-happy uber-Sanchez to ruin this.

He snickered pulling his hand up and stroking his messy hair. Mornings like this were not meant for dark thoughts, he reminded himself, No calls, no alarms. Whatever was to unfold, had to wait. This was his and the Squadron's mandatory day off. Although usually happening between every six to ten weeks, if following an Earth-based calendar was even remotely possible, it was never scheduled, and announced just twenty four hours ahead. The news would usually come during a mission and had proven itself as a strong motivator for some team members. Specifically those who still led lives in other dimensions.

Not every one of his subordinates liked to share details about his past. Some Ricks were more mysterious than others, especially when speaking to another version of themselves. Scout and Comms loved to talk about their lives before the Citadel. They shared details of their adventures, sexual exploits, the many times they were able to flee from imminent death, the crimes they committed and terrorist attacks they either planned or executed.

Commander Rick figured that these memories were very similar to what he and other, less eager to share, members of his team had experienced throughout the years of roaming the multiverse. And although they would sometimes recall interesting events in less engaging conversations, there was one memory none of them wanted to go back to.

Diane.

A ghost figure in their collective memory, never spoken off, yet always presumably present. For some, she functioned as a background character. For those members of his team who had fond memories of Beth as a child, Diane was a brief mention. Referred to as "the ex", "my daughter's mother" and many other phrases, strategically omitting her name. For others, she was simply non-existent, a faded memory replaced with characters encountered during their soul-searching multi-year dimension-hopping escapades.

For him, she was an example of why culturally ascribed norms of affection and what came from it could not always be translated into actual happiness. The way she persisted to emerge as a memory was a perfect illustration that the human mind, no matter how genius, was too often preoccupied with unnecessary attachments. Three decades later, he still had trouble letting her go and hoped that other Ricks were more successful in dealing with their heartbreak.

He finally found the energy to move. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he reached out for his loyal flask, waiting for him, as usual, on the nightstand. He grabbed it firmly, noticing an annoying muscle twitch. A big sip was enough to calm these rebellious tissues. Shaky hands were definitely not his favorite part of any morning. Another sip for good measure. He smiled comfortably and looked up, noticing his reflection in the mirror closet doors. Commander Rick was giving himself the finger.

"A- and a good morning to you-" a loud burp interrupted his monologue "asshole".

There was no one he hated more in the entire multiverse than the man he was forced to encounter in the mirror every single day.


	5. Caught in the Burning Glow

"Commander, y- you gotta go!" he could hear Weapons' voice screeching through the communication system, every second word interrupted with a short burp. A slight fuzziness to the sound surely must have meant that the Squadron made it to the portal and was already back at the Citadel.

"Fuck you!" his reply was instant and almost instinctive, his mind preoccupied with counting every single pull of the trigger. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen… "W- what the fuck a—are you?" Rick screamed at the beast in front of him. This standoff was clearly a distraction, the obviousness of that fact did not leave his mind even for a split second. But there was nothing rational he could offer his brain the moment his aggressive instinct hit. Minutes earlier, the monstrous figure tore Morty to pieces. Weapons and Engineer were about to serve the giant black mass of tissue a whole series of plasma shots while Commander Rick was getting ready to open a portal and get the boy to safety. He could not have predicted that the creature would sprout another set of limbs and instantly entangle Morty, his body crushed into a pulp without a warning.

Or maybe he could have. Most certainly. But he had not. And it was Morty who paid the ultimate price.

His uniform drenched in blood, Commander did not react at first. No helmet on, ready to deploy to the Division, his face decorated with drops of blood, he seemed calm, as if something removed his consciousness from the moment he had witnessed.

"Y- you'll be ok, M- Morty! We got you, it's going to be ok..! Grampa's got you. You hear me?" these were the last words Sanchez' grandson heard before his whole body turned into a mass of misshapen muscle, crushed bone and liquefied cartilage. Rick's mind held onto that vivid scene he had witnessed mere seconds before. His eyes suddenly filled with fury, his left arm reached for the blaster, while his right hand quickly disposed of Morty's lifeless forearm.

Scout hissed under his breath, making sure that his reaction had not been heard by other members of the Squadron. This was their tenth Earth day on the job, tracing a series of mysterious Sanchez deaths. Two hundred thirty five hours with four dead Mortys who were impossible to save. The fifth one was supposed to be the one they deliver to safety.

Trying not to concentrate on this loss, he tapped the communicator on his wrist and opened a group holo-chat between the team. Commander Rick did not respond.

"We lost him" Comms stated, a hint of nervousness in his voice. It was clear that he did not mean the boy.

"What do you want us to do?" Med responded quickly, going through all possible scenarios on what would be the best course of action. Disabling their leader was not an option. Not mid-combat. If they wanted to wanted to keep him alive. And he was more than sure that they did.

As the second in command, Weapons concentrated on Rick's enraged screams interrupted only with shots from his gun. Not the first and definitely not the last burst like this, but even the Commander was not worth risking the whole Squadron's safety. "Me and Medic are staying behind!" he exclaimed, nodding at the rest. "Return to the Division and wait".

"Should we report…?!" Comms pointed to the Commander who was tearing the beast to pieces. Weapons did not respond immediately. Scout could feel the weight of those few seconds in his sternum.

"No" Weapons was confident in his judgment. "We'll debrief first after and then see what needs to be done".

"Understood" Engineer confirmed and opened the exit portal "Let's move!"

"Did they make you second in command for being a terrible liar?" Med made sure that his intercom was shut off from the others, as soon as they disappeared with the portal.

"I may ha—ave my disagree—eements with that motherfucker" Weapons pulled out a pen-shaped device from a small compartment hidden in the communicator on his forearm. Activated by a click, the object flew a few feet away from them and began tracing a cube in the air, pulling minerals from nearby rock formations. "But he's the best leader we had and will ever have".

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. The heavy blaster did little to no damage and every injury to the monster's body healed immediately. Another set of limbs sprouted from the main mass, this time shaped like tentacles. Commander Rick dodged the attack, serving the beast another five shots. Blinded with rage, he did not think of any plan. He just wanted to kill. However that would have taken place.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. His arm progressively giving up on him, his heart beating faster, and the shallowness of his breath painfully reminding him that he was not the same Rick who explored the universe years ago. In fact, he had not been that Rick for decades. Despite all his upgrades and replacements, he was an old man.

"They better give me a new set of lungs after this" every deeper gasp of air felt as if thousands of tiny needles were puncturing his insides.

He dodged another attack, this time barely making it. Overwhelmed with what he could only identify as panic, he began searching for the portal gun. If he wanted to get out alive, this was the time. The beast in front of him retracted into a sturdy, shapeless mass and reformed, showing off hundreds upon hundreds of hands, from tiny baby-like ones to ones big as himself. One of them grabbed the portal gun before he could reach it and smashed it to pieces. A few drops of the green liquid landed on Rick's cheek, burning the skin right off.

"Motherfucker!" he screamed, surprised by the pain, watching, what was undeniably the most important invention in Sanchez' life, burst into pieces. His only escape from this situation – gone. The shock quickly subsided. Rick could feel his lips widen in a smug smile. He was ready to accept that this would be his last fight. After all, Ricks died every day. And he most definitely enjoyed a much more meaningful existence than many of them. Even if he was still a Sanchez. All the way through.

Grinding his teeth, he found all the strength he could, reached out behind his back and pulled out a mid-sized rod, latest addition to their arsenal. One push of a button changed this unsuspected piece of metal into a plasma saw. Nothing could stop its blade. Especially flesh. Whatever its components might have been. He lunged at the beast, screaming at the top of his lungs. If he was to go, he would have never done so without a fight.

In mid-air, before delivering the first blow, he noticed a small, quartz cube making its way between him and the shapeshifting pile of dark matter.

"The hydrodisintegrator!" shocked, he immediately discarded the saw, assumed a semi-fetal position, and held his breath, bracing his whole body for the impact. Of all the ways he thought he would die this day, this one was definitely not on his list.

And it never would have been.

Weapons detonated the cube, hiding very close to where they opened the portal to the Citadel. Med crouched next to him, shielding his eyes from the blast. A blinding, brightly blue light engulfed the area and everything went still for a few seconds, as if all time slowed down. Weapons was sure that he identified the creature's DNA comprehensively enough to destroy it, without causing much harm to non-shape-shifting, carbon-based life. He did not have enough time to contemplate what would be the best distance to minimize the aftermath.

He focused on his portable console, trying to locate life forms in their proximity. The device quickly pointed to a pile of debris created by the shockwave. "Carbon-based" he smiled and turned on the DNA scanner. The machine added almost immediately: "Sanchez, Rick". Medic looked at him both relieved and terrified.

"Alive" he finally sighed "but in pieces".

"O- on it!" Med sprinted to where they located the Commander. He noticed a few minibots following him. These little machines did not look like much, but they saved their asses enough times to become an essential part of any rescue mission. Their presence meant one thing – Engineer was back from the Citadel.

"Is Scout here too?" Medic waited for minibots to clear his path to Commander Rick.

"We all are" confirmed Weapons, giving the whole Squad a signal to join Medic on his rescue. Scout, as Med's unofficial assistant, made sure to join him first. He was not ready for what he would see.

Half of Commander Rick's face was burnt off, with strings of flesh hanging from his right cheek, his left eye gone, leaving out a gaping hole, left ear torn to shreds, and the right side of his mouth stretched in a grotesque manner. Most of his hair was gone, with small patches visible here and there.

What seemed like the worst amount of injuries, quickly turned out to be miniscule compared to the rest of the Commander's body. His torso was missing a large portion of its left side, his right hand smashed to a pulp and both legs missing from the knees down, with some remaining connective tissue hanging from both joints.

Medic served him a triple dose of painkillers and half a portion of their usual energetic boost, and began tending to the wounds. He noticed how the remaining eye focused on the saw he had reached for. Commander Rick was fully aware what needed to happen, yet he seemed uneasy, and even… scared?

"We'll get you a new body at the Division" it may have been designed for killing, but the plasma saw was the most reliable tool for amputation he has ever encountered. "I just need to make sure you get there alive. This is the best way".

Weapons observed the gruesome scene with a noticeable worry. Engineer, Comms and Scout waited for their second in command to say anything. Rick, however, was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Can't y- you just sedaa—aate him?" he asked finally, clearly unable to witness the scene anymore.

"Not until I have him ready for transport. If I put him under now, he may die. You dropped a hydrodisintegrator on him, this isn't a regular patch up!" he sighed "He may be out of commission for a while, if radiation illness kicks in" he gazed at the leader, who evidently tried to force his mouth to form words, but to no avail "Half of your throat is smashed. I wouldn't try if I was you" he explained. Commander Rick let out a gurgling sound and closed his eye.

"We need to involve the Council" Weapons understood the seriousness of the situation immediately.

Comms shook his head. "There's no need, the Division will be enough. Let them decide what to do. We can't…!" he stopped mid-sentence, realizing that a new portal opened up next to him.

"We're already involved" Quantum Rick, the head of the Council Militia, stood next to them in all of his glory. The whole Squadron found themselves paralyzed with fear and respect. The Council were the most intelligent and powerful Ricks in the Multiverse. None of them would have dreamt that they would see a Council Member not only in person, but also on the ground, where all of their dirty work happened.

"By order of the Council, this Squadron's missions are suspended." Council Member Rick proclaimed calmly, making sure that every member of the team feels the weight of his words, the importance of his presence and the seriousness of the decision they were delivered.

His focused gaze finally reached Commander Rick.

"Rick Sanchez of Universe R-62. For your recklessness and insubordination, and threatening the Council's safety, you're being placed under arrest".


	6. Far Beyond and Far Below

The regeneration chamber had a satisfyingly warm feeling to it, matched only with the comfort provided by the conductive liquid one’s body had been suspended in. Much denser than water, but still not as dense as jello, it provided the perfect suspension environment. Once one became conscious of being submerged in it, letting go turned out to be effortless. The liquid’s formula was a highly safeguarded secret among the Division’s medical staff.

Largely consisting of dihydrogen monoxide, enriched with minerals, probiotics and microbots, designed by the late Rick F-481, it helped rebuild damaged tissue in a matter of hours. Fully programmable, it was able to selectively regenerate parts of the body, and not its entirety, making it also a great tool for negotiation and extraction of information. When needed, that is.

These days, however, it had been mostly used on different Ricks within the Division who, deployed for missions, came back with injuries beyond what a standard medical protocol was able to tackle. Usually, there were not many of them and most injuries required a 12 hour rest or limb regrowth that took between two and five 24 hour cycles modeled after Earth’s rotation. Commander Rick was not lucky enough to land a few days in bed. He was, however, lucky enough not to perish on his Squadron’s last assignment. Despite the fact that in some cases, death might have been a better option than having to face the Council.

Under normal circumstances, healing in the chamber would have been accompanied by regular socializing with fellow team members, after one regained consciousness, as contact with close co-workers has proven beneficial to both physical and mental bettering of the patients. As trivial as it was, benefits of a holistic approach to health care had data behind them and what the Division needed were soldiers who would not only regenerate fast in their body but also their mind. They needed to be healthy and relatively happy. At least on the surface, above their everlasting feeling of dread and meaninglessness.

“We’re here to make Ricks happy” Clinical Assistant Rick, or Clinic, as the soldiers liked to call him, tapped the chamber’s transparent wall with his skinny fingers. “Not this time, apparently” he followed up immediately with a thoughtful sigh.

R-62 did not move. He had been virtually unconscious ever since he had been brought back from his last vaguely unsuccessful mission. Contrary to previous instances, his team did not brag nor reported what had happened, keeping strategically to themselves and only engaging with the Division when required to. It made absolute logical sense. Their Commander had been arrested. Sharing anything would probably worsen his situation.

“I’m guessing you’re under torture arrest then” Clinic murmured.

Despite his overwhelming injuries, R-62 was granted only throat tissue rebuild and general patch-up. The microbots were replicating cells of his most vital organs, but the Health Center was prohibited from any cloning or limb regrowth activities.

“They really must hate you up there at the Division” Clinic let out another snarky comment, fairly amused to see a Rick in trouble. It had been too long since the last troublemaker. “You po-oor a-asshole” one sip from his favorite flask set the scene for a lengthy reflection. Sadly, he heard the automatic door behind him open. 

“No m- monologuing under my-y watch!

Clinic turned around to see the Head of the Division, Major Ricktus, in all his glory. Once considered for a position as a Member of the Citadel Council, he was in the end put in charge of recovery and supply missions. And, as almost anyone in the Division would agree, he seemed like a good Rick in the right place.

“Yes, Major” Clinic addressed the Rick-in-chief with the most convincing fake acknowledgment he could muster. Ricktus gazed at him with non-disputable contempt, took the flask right of Clinic’s hand, and drank. His sip was long and apparently satisfying, as his grin, followed immediately by a shiver, would suggest.

“Fucking disgu-usting” he followed with a loud burp “No wonder we categorized your dimension under one of those weird letters supplementary to the original Latin alphabet. What are you?” his look was brief, yet judgmental “Ż-17?”

“Ź, Major, Ź-17”

“Woah!” Ricktus took another sip “I shouldn’t be talking to you. You know what? No one should be talking to you, you are literally almost at the end of the Rick line. The only Rick who has it worse than you is the one that turns invisible at night”

A monologue. Of course.

“I- I’m gonna put forward a petition to the Council to make sure that talking to assholes like you is illegal everywhere around the Citadel! Now get out of my face! Me and R-62 need to talk”

“He’s still unconscious, Sir” Clinic tried to sound respectful. It was the only way how to deal with Ricks like Major. His own Morty taught him that. 

“If I wanted a medical opinion, I would have talked to the head of your unit and not an assistant. Or should I say ‘ass’?” Ricktus growled back. “Ge-et the fuck outta here”.

Clinic felt an instant need to bite back with similar snarkiness, but decided to simply give Major a longer, empty look. The Health Center did not remunerated him enough to care.

Finally, the automatic door closed behind Clinic, leaving Major and R-62 alone in the room. Ricktus tapped his fingers on the glass, almost exactly in the same place as the Medical Assistant did just minutes earlier. Commander Rick did not move. Major took notice of what exactly he endorsed in the healing process. All the catastrophic wounds have been closed off and seemed fairly treated. Vital readings on the monitors suggested any internal bleeding had been stopped and regular circulation restored.

“Well, ready as you’ll e-ever be” he said to himself and reached for the communicator, located on the wall behind him. One press of a button connected him with the Clinical Assistant. “Clinic?”

A few seconds of static interference before he could hear another Rick reply.

“Yes, Major?”

“I need R-62 ready for interrogation”

“What about further recovery, Sir?” a hint of hesitation in Clinic’s voice made him uneasy. Their job was to follow orders, not give advice on anything that has been decided levels above their decision-making.

“I didn’t endorse any”

Was the lack of reply from the Health Unit a meaningful type of silence? Major Ricktus shrugged. Insubordance like this was what was killing the Division internally.

“He’s alive” he finally added, as the wait went on “You did your job. He remains under arrest”.

“You’re going against out standard protocol, Major. We didn’t even had a chance to see if whatever happened had any psychological effect on him.”

“Do I need to get the head of this unit here?” Ricktus was clearly growing impatient. No response from the assistant encouraged him to continue. “You know very well that there’s an arrest protocol but I wouldn’t have to tell you this if you weren’t so fucking incompetent!”

“I’ll let you do anything with and to him” Clinic snarked “if it saves me from this self-satisfactory monologue”

“Fuck you”

Even before he was able to finish this unimpressive insult, the door opened again, letting in a team of three lower medical personnel. Equivalent to Earth nurses, these Ricks were to make sure that anyone awaken from a recovery coma was able to regain consciousness without much physical or mental damage. Major wondered what kind of internal protocol called for more than one attending to the injured. If it was a recent change, it must have had something to do with the illusive rogue Rick, whose murderous tendencies left dozens of Ricks dead and twice as many injured beyond conceivable repair. 

One of the Ricks, most likely the day’s coordinator, pushed a sequence of buttons on the control panel and began to drain the chamber. A few second later he was attaining to the levitating stretcher, while the other two made sure R-62 was properly placed on it. 

“W- what cell do you want him in?” asked the coordinating Rick

“Interrogation. I have a lot of questions for the Commander.”

A single nod from all three. Finishing up measuring R-62’s vitals, the coordinating nurse gave Major a breakdown of the situation.

“No definite physical injury to brain tissue” he concluded. “If he tells you he doesn’t remember what you’re asking him for, there’s a 85% probability that he’s lying. Unless there’s a psychological issue, but we didn’t have enough time to…”

“Thank you” Ricktus stopped him from further analysis, looking away. “I don’t need more”.

“He may be less cooperative, too” one of the nurses jumped into the conversation “Since you decided to omit the mental health evaluation”

Major rolled his eyes.

“He’s a Rick. I don’t need a mental health evaluation to know that he’s fucked up.”

“You’ll be sorry” another nurse smirked while drawing blood from R-62. Commander moaned softly. He was beginning to regain consciousness.

“Leave” Ricktus ordered the nurses immediately. All three left promptly, casually throwing insults at him, as if he wasn’t there. Major didn’t care much. There was always time to report them to the Health Unit. Hierarchy was everything at the Citadel and to this day some Ricks made it alive only because he was too preoccupied to care about letting the Division and the Council know about their antics.

Ricktus tapped the surface of his uniform, an inch above the clavicle.

“He’s conscious” a short gaze at Commander Rick who tried to grasp the reality of his situation made him correct that statement “Semi.”

“That should be enough” Quantum Rick did not seem amused.

“You can have him after I’m done” Ricktus answered.

“Take your tii-- ime. He’s not going anywhere”

An unexpected snicker from the Major filled the empty room.

“Oh, you like making fun of injured Ricks? Huh? Major” Quantum Rick sounded angry, Ricktus wouldn’t have any of it.

“As if you didn’t”

For a brief moment there was no reply from the Council Member. Only unidentified static.

“And this is why I wanted you among us. You know how to be cruel”

Major Ricktus let out a confirming sigh and ended the transmission. Throughout the entirety of the conversation he did not stop observing R-62 who was now looking at him with only one eye, a reminder that not even a few days ago he was in a gigantic explosion that almost cost him his life.

“Y- you didn’t patch me up” his tone was not a question. It was a statement. And a devastating one at that. Ricktus swore that he detected a trace of panic in the Commander’s voice.

A sheet was covering his body. But that did not distract him from missing body parts. Trying to reach for his face with the left arm, a task in itself, he noticed the obvious difficulty with depth perception. He could hear his breathing becoming shallower and more chaotic with every second. This was not the post-mission state he would otherwise find himself in. This was very, very different.

It was wrong.

“Who kno-- ows, maybe we won’t”

Major grinned, for the first time seeing actual fear in his subordinate’s face.

“Ever”


	7. Days Revisited

Comms whistled with appreciation, impressed by Scout's new arm. If only he would stop boasting about it so much. Just hours earlier, he was let go from the Health Unit where they were testing out new re-growth techniques. The effects were incredibly promising. No stretch marks from rapid tissue production, a barely visible scar where his stub used to be, and, what Scout found most useful and relieving, no decrease in ability, something he was most afraid of.

"I wa- ant to see that new hand use a pistol" Weapons was not particularly happy about Scout's need to show off. "If it can't be used in co- ombat, let me cite S-79's Morty, 'it ain't shit'."

Scout rolled his eyes at fellow Rick and quickly gazed at the all his other team members. Twenty minutes into their preparatory hour, everyone except for the Commander was there, sitting on benches in the locker room barely covered, enjoying the comfortable warmth of the space that became their only refuge from the Division's watchful eyes. Forty minutes separated them from another four to six hours of intense training in a simulation so real, that at least one member of the Squadron would relive it in his nightmares for the few following weeks. Engineer seemed slightly amused, wondering how Scout's new arm and hand coordination would play out in the simulator, and most likely counting on another amputation. After all, this was his long awaited debut. And something was telling Engineer that there were more to come.

"Be careful, or you'll beat Weapons' record" he smirked.

"Over my dead body" the mentioned Rick rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure the Health Unit has cloned limbs for me on standby" he proudly proclaimed.

"If they do, they're for eve- eryone. We share the same DNA" Comms sighed, tired of the conversation. "In this squad, anyway".

Med did not pay much attention to the competition itself but was still busy investigating fellow team member's regrowth. Sitting nude on the bench, he finally stood up and walked up to Scout. All Ricks' eyes were on him.

"Can you at least put a towel o- on?!" they cried out in unison. An uncontrollable laughter was all they would receive as an answer.

"Do- on't they have shame in your dimension?" Comms sighed finally.

"N- no." Med found a second to breathe between spasms. "But they certainly ha- ave Ricks who are not afraid to admit that they like di- ick." he smirked, gazing suggestively.

"Afraid or not…" Engineer shook his head in disbelief "I am certainly not into Dick Sanchez."

"So- unds like a personal problem" Med shrugged investigating the regrowth. "Is thi- is traditional or did you get some a- addons?" he finally asked, brushing up against Scout's back. The other Rick shivered with discomfort and shuffled away from him.

"T- traditional" he finally replied, catching a pistol that Weapons through at him. He played with the gun for a few seconds, demonstrating the responsiveness of his new joints and the smooth movement of his muscles. Comms nodded in appreciation. He specifically did not care about the look of any body parts. Utility was the most sought after feature.

"You're not looking!" Scout exclaimed, almost offended, catching Weapons and Engineer speaking under their breaths to each other.

"It's been thirty minutes." Engineer answered, seemingly out of context. Every Rick turned to face him, knowing exactly what he meant.

"We're not his baby sitters" Scout sighed and aimed the pistol at Med.

"Not you."

He then aimed it between Engineer and Weapons.

"Not these two."

The muzzle pointed at Comms. Both him and Scout smiled at each other mysteriously.

"Not this one for sure".

He then flipped the gun in his hand and pointed it at his temple, resting two fingers on the trigger.

"And certainly not thi- is motherfucker".

A portal opened next to him and in a matter of seconds a gloved hand reached out from it, sharply pulling the gun away in a swift move.

"I told you, no showing off." Commander Rick emerged from the portal, quickly closing it. No one from the team was able to get a good a glimpse of the dimension he just got out off. He immediately placed the portal gun in the inner pocket of his coat. He then sighed, looking at Weapons and passed him the pistol. The second in command made sure that the safety was on. It was not. "This is ho- ow you keep tabs on them?" Commander hissed. "This fucker almost shot himself in the head!"

"As if we would miss him" Comms rolled his eyes at the Commander, immediately regretting the comment. This would definitely earn him a monologue of a lifetime, filled with existential and nihilistic inspirations, no doubt. He signed deeply, waiting for the discursive blow.

"Our team's success depends on all of you being alive! Don't you think I dream of blowing my brains out every day? We're Ricks. We fucking hate ourselves!"

"I like this new color scheme, captain!" Med suddenly exclaimed, surprising everyone with this out of character distraction. He never missed an opportunity to underline how much being Rick Sanchez was the most painful experiences a human being could have been subjected to.

Commander Rick turned to him, clearly expecting another comment. It was his mistake to teleport to the waiting area, instead of his residence. He did not think that through. Too many emotions to process. They usually clouded his rational mind and prevented him from taking calculated decisions. There was not enough time anyway. If he missed the training, there would have been so much to not look forward to.

"You went to another funeral, didn't you?" Med continued, pointing at Commander's all-black outfit that he had seen too many times to think that it could have meant anything else.

"Fifte- en minutes" Engineer tapped the screen on his gauntlet to remind everybody about the upcoming training. He was certainly not ready to become part of this argument. No one in their mind was. Comms, Weapons and Scout must have felt the same. They were uncharacteristically removed from the argument.

Commander Rick took this opportunity to remove the trench coat and take out the portal gun. Not even once did he turn away from Med, their eyes locked, and no word spoken.

"Shouldn't you be dressed? he finally scoffed, taking a scanning look at his team member's body. "You can wiggle your dick in front of everyone's face when we're done".

This time, Med did not respond to this clear stab at him, neither did he indicate that the comment was even slightly amusing. None of the other team members did.

"As your commander, I order you to get re- eady" their leader turned away and tapped a few buttons on the portal gun, a small passage appeared in front of him. Commander immediately threw both the portal gun and the trench coat into the glowing green opening. He then tapped the palm of his left hand with two fingers of the right. Twice. The fabric of his clothing changed, turning into their usual training suit. A great use of nanotechnology. Not to mention illegal under the Citadel's rules. Within a second, the portal closed, leaving the team confused and angrier than before.

"I was getting ready with you." he then proclaimed, finding the rest of his training gear in a designated locker. "I don't have a portal gun that would take me anywhere. I never had one. It is not in my residence area, neither is it anywhere within the Division. Understood?"

"You added a self-locking mechanism" Engineer exclaimed. "You want us all taken down? You're breaching protocol!"

"I am not doing anything that puts the Citadel in danger" Commander tried to explain himself as calmly as possible. "I just want to make sure that whatever it is tha- at we are engaged in, does not hurt those who do not have to suffer."

Med was clearly getting impatient.

"M- Morty is our only concern! You can't just keep be-aming yourself to these gatherings and get entangled in Smiths' issues!" he finally exclaimed.

"I have to!" Commander Rick was not having any of these accusations. "Beth is the one who suffers the most. Do- do you know how much she misses Sanchez whenever he dies? Do you understand what a tremendous loss it is for her? It doesn't matter which reality I go to!"

"Beth is strong" Engineer joined in with a calm and reassuring tone. "You don't have to keep interfering with her life. She'll get over her father's death. She always does."

Comms, Weapons and Scout watched as the argument progressed. They all agreed with what Med and Engineer had to say. There was nothing and noone else that mattered more than Morty Smith. His well-being was at stake, his life was of value. And not just to the Citadel, but them as Ricks. Neither of them had a grandchild of their own. Their Beths had chosen different paths and none of these paths had led them to meeting Jerry Smith. Their mission was not just the Citadel's whim. It was a great emotional need. A need that led them to believe that not only were they unique to the multitudes of Rick Sanchez', but that said uniqueness was what drove them. As long as there were Mortys to save, they had a reason to live.

"You know when they get over it?!" Commander screamed at the top of his lungs "When I show up and let them know that her father was not the asshole she thinks he was! She learns this from me!"

"Fi- ive minutes" Engineer disturbed the two without hesitation. Everyone except for Med had almost their whole gear prepared. He still stood naked in the middle of the room, breathing heavily and angrily observing the Commander.

"Thi- this is not about them" he finally hissed. "This is about you!"

"Y- you better put your fucking clothes on" Commander Rick was quick to ignore this remark and to change the subject.

"That's exactly w- what it is" Med hastily zipped the front of his body suit. Their preparatory hour was almost over, and none of them wanted to angry the Division's leadership with a potential delay. They knew how cruel Ricks with power got. "You're doing this for your comfort!"

Commander smashed his helmet on the bench, and before Weapons could restrain him, he landed a forceful punch on Med's face. Not ready for the blow, Rick would have fallen right on the floor, if it was not for Scout, who caught him immediately. At least now they were even, after Med made sure he did not crack his skull back when they were saving Morty W-792.

"Do you thi- ink I like lying to them?!" Commander tried to free himself from Weapons' grip, but Engineer joined. They could not allow Rick to make another emotional mistake. "I always tell them how important it is for us to know that everything is fine, and that they can make it on their own! This is what we owe to them after taking their sons! How can you not see that?!"

Med spat on the floor to avoid looking at the Commander whose eyes were tears he almost had for a daughter who could not have been his, they were what was most pathetic about Ricks who developed empathy. They would never had a chance to be as cold and removed as other Ricks, especially not like the members of the Council. Med scoffed under his breath. There were times when he did not understand why the Division decided to make them all into a specialized squadron. They were too flawed to be the soldiers they thought they were being made into. And now, that the Commander once again risked the existence of his team to deliver an emotional coda to another Sanchez story, it was clear that even their leader could not work through the overwhelming reality of deep connection with another human being.

"All of you take that fragile woman for granted!" leading Rick "She deserves clo- sure! A- all I'm doing is making sure is that she understands how important she is. To the universe. To all of you. To me!"

A screen appeared on one of the walls of the room. Weapons and Engineer reach out to the Commander, pulled him away by the shoulders, throwing him forcefully the floor, away from the view of the video transmission unit. A loud grunt was the only sound he was able to produce.

"Get a grip, Commander" Weapons hissed in a whisper "It's the Division".

Rick exhaled loudly, slapped himself twice on every cheek and stood up, joining his team. The screen finally revealed Major Ricktus, sporting his full uniform. He was about to give them directions as to what kind of training they were to face. He did not fail to mention that their last few missions were a complete disaster. The Citadel was slowly running out of available Mortys compared to the number of Ricks that were arriving every single day. A crisis was about to unfold and much of its prevention lied in their hands. Commander inhaled deeply. This was the reminder he needed. Who cared about what happened to the Citadel. The boy needed to be alive and that's what they were here to do.

"You're hearing what Major is saying" the Squad was relieved to see their leader come back to his sense. "Let's give this training all we have and get back to saving Mortys!"

Everyone nodded. Med sent the Commander a quick smile of appreciation. He might have been crazy, but at least he could rally them up effectively. And if giving people false hope was what gave him the energy and will to continue as a leader, maybe that is what he needed to continue with.

"I- I don't think so- o" Zeta Alpha belched loudly and poked the touch screen console in front of him, pausing the locker room video. "That squa- adron is a bunch of pussies" he then rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Tha- at's the point" Quantum Rick tapped his console to close the video, making the temporary screen in front of them disappear. He then looked at R-62, who, conscious, yet still not healed, was strapped to a floating vertical stretcher, placed a few feet above the floor. From the corner of his eye, Quantum could see that other Council members were stretching their necks out to get a better look at the 'leader' in question.

"B- but how?" everyone turned their heads at the dressed up Morty who, usually a source of joy in the room, looked very confused. "H- how were you able to r- respond to an observation shared through the o- other characters' inner thoughts?" his confusion started making Ricks nervous.

Ricktiminus waved at the guards at the door both of whom nodded and took the boy away. Not receiving the answer he was expecting, the boy tried to get away from them, but their grip was too tight. He was still screaming, unable to get the right answer.

"Someone give him a quick lecture on framing devices in prose before you dump him to the dorm!" Rick Prime finally exclaimed. "It's my turn to have him for a da- ay tomorrow and I don't want him all rallied u- up about breaking the fourth wall and shit".

"Can we please focus on the task at hand" Maximums lazily pointed at R-62 with his left hand, while playing with his hair with the right. "R-62, y- you are here to testi- -fy about your unreported double life. Not disclosing life events that you are a part of when not at the Citadel is a violation of article 4 of the Founding Act, and punishable by immediate execution. What do you have to say?"

For the first time since he was brought to be questioned by the Council, Commander Rick looked up to see all the Members' faces. He could not exactly tell what kind of expression his face was conveying, most of his nerves have not been rebuilt, neither were muscles. Except those responsible for speaking. Within the few weeks that passed between his last mission and this farce of an event, the Health Unit repaired only what they deemed essential to his debut in front of the Council. And that indeed meant that he was still shitting through a tube.

"Go fuck yourselves" he finally said, making sure that every single word was clearly pronounced.

Riq IV smiled and chuckled.

"Well, well. Looks like we've got ourselves another writing trope. Time for a cliché cliffhanger in a form of a verbal threat!"

Quantum did not seem to be as amused as his fellow Rick. His eyes were clearly focused on R-62. What did this Rick have to hide that was hidden behind a veil of family visits, funeral appearances and supposed closure-giving.

"Sad to state the obvious, R-62" he responded, ignoring Riq completely "But it seems as if you are currently the one who's fucked".


End file.
